


Do You Feel Any Remorse?

by ambercreek95



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Comfort ending, Drabble, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Shippy, Overdose, dialogue prompt, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29088063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambercreek95/pseuds/ambercreek95
Summary: Tweek Tweak has something he needs to get off his chest, but to do so, he will need to finally make that visit to see his father in prison.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 15
Kudos: 53





	Do You Feel Any Remorse?

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the dialogue prompt:  
> “Do you feel any remorse for what you did to them? To me?!”
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING - implied child abuse, suicide references and drugs/overdosing

My leg will not stop bouncing under the solid steel table. The _tap tap tap_ of my boot heel hitting the vomit-green linoleum, setting the bass line to my anxiety anthem.

A warm heavy hand settles on my thigh, stopping my jittering in it’s tracks. No words are exchanged, just a silent, physical exchange to remind me of the solid, stabilising presence to my left. 

In absence of my restless leg, my fingers start tapping an unsteady rhythm on the table top, my anxious mind unable to concede its symphony quite yet. My teeth dig into my bottom lip painfully, almost to the point of drawing blood. Still, the sting is a welcome distraction from the rolling nausea overtaking my stomach and threatening to spill itself over the top of the graffitied table.   
  


A loud ‘buzz’ makes me jump in my seat. The solid door opens and, steered by a surly guard with a firm grip on his orange-clad elbow, is the worst thing that ever happened to me.   
  


My fingers stop their drumming, instead giving the two pairs of shoes strolling across the floor the chance to have their solo. the guard steers him, rather harshly, onto the bench seat opposite me.

His face looks slightly thinner, and paler, but other than that, he’s the same. He still has the same curly brown hair, same dead eyes, same hair-raising half smile. I’m not sure what I was expecting. That once the judge slammed the gavel, he would transform into the demon that he had carried inside of him all these years? That the outside of him would finally reflect the poisonous creature he had been on the inside for my entire life, and not the _All American Family Man_ that everyone in town had believe him to be?

“Hello Son,” he says, voice sounding bored.

”Hi dad.” I kick myself, already breaking my own rule of only calling him Richard.

”Craig.”

Craig ignores him entirely. I know that he doesn’t want to be here. He’s only here because I need him to be. I don’t think I could do what I came here to do without him by my side.

  
Richard drags his eyes away from Craig, to fix me again with that cold stare. “So, tell me son,” he starts, “how is the shop going? You and your mother handling it alright by yourselves?”

I blink slowly, fighting the all consuming urge to roll my eyes. I’m not sure why I’m surprised that his first question is about the shop, and not about mum or me. “You know damn well that the shop was seized after the arrest. There is no shop at all anymore.”

Richard clicks his tongue disappointedly. “Shame, really. That shop has been in my family for generations.”

I grit my teeth, anger quickly threatening to boil over. “No, it _hasn’t!_ you bought that shop 20 years ago! It didn’t even survive one generation!”

The steady hand on my thigh squeezes comfortingly, drawing me back into myself and effectively smothering my rage. I take a deep breath.   
  


“I don’t want to talk about the shop, Richard,” I said coldly. “I came here to tell you something.”

Richard cocks an eyebrow, curiosity winning out over any desire to keep discussing the long gone coffee shop.

I can feel Craig’s thumb run comforting, discrete circles on my knee. I use it to focus as I open my mouth to speak.

”I want you to know,” I say, hoping that the slight waiver in my voice was undetectable, “that we are doing great without you.”   
  


I pause, waiting to see if he will reply. He doesn’t, so I continue.   
  


“My whole life, you made me feel like I was a mistake. You treated me like an inconvenience, and when I wasn’t an inconvenience, I was free child labour for you. You sowed the seed for every anxious thought and every panic attack I’ve ever had, by telling me that the world was dangerous and I needed to be prepared.”

”What I didn’t realise at the time, was that the thing I should have been most afraid of was you.”

I swallow, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat. Richard stays silent on the other side of the table. Craig slides closer to my side, each limb pressed against mine bolstering my resolve to finish what I started.   
  


“I never knew what you were doing. I guess I should have picked up on it, with your errand runs to Kenny’s house, and all the talk about your _special ingredient_. I should have known when I started to feel bugs crawl under my skin and voices besides my own shouting in my head after every forced taste test.”

”I sometimes wonder, _dad,_ ” I spit venomously, “if you would have ever been caught if you didn’t accidentally give me too much that day.”

”Or was it _not_ accidental? Were you _trying_ to kill me?” I choke on the last word, the trauma of my near death experience not quite healed only 6 months past.   
  


Craig’s hand tightens almost painfully on my thigh. I know he’s thinking of the same thing I was; my week long coma, that the doctors weren’t sure I’d even be myself still on the other side of, if I even woke up. Of the long rehab that followed. Apparently, being unknowingly addicted to meth since you were 10 years old meant that getting sober was the equivalent to hell on earth. I can’t recall how many times I wish I had died instead, as my head was buried hour after hour, day after day, in whichever vomit bag the nurses had procured for me.

I shudder now when I think of that time. Of how if I had of had a way to end my own life back then, I could have easily done it.  
  
  


Thank god for Craig. My rock throughout it all.

Richard stares back at me, looking bored and entirely unfazed by my turmoil. I feel the rage once again boiling over. “Do you feel any remorse at all for what you did to all those people? Your customers who you drugged? _Do you feel any remorse for what you did to me?!_ ”

Richard’s eyes gaze blankly into mine. I think for a moment that he is going to stay silent once again, until he opens his mouth. “Now son, don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?”

I try so hard not to let those words wound me. I try harder than I ever have to remind myself that this man could no longer hurt me, stuck for the rest of his life in the four walls of a prison cell, and yet, frustrated tears still prick my eyes.   
  
  


I can see Craig’s right fist curl, his nostrils flaring with barely contained anger. I’m sure there is nothing more that he would like to do than leap across this table and beat him within an inch of his life.

I swallow my emotions and continue. “I just wanted to let you know that I am going to be _fine_ without you. I’m going to graduate high school without you, I’m going to get my degree without you, I’m going to get married without you, and I am going to be absolutely fine throughout it all knowing that you’ll be behind bars for the rest of your life!” I spit out, “And maybe one day, I’ll even have a kid of my own, and I will do _everything_ in my power to be a better father than you ever were!”   
  
  


I stand up from my seat, dragging Craig up with me, and staring down at the my pathetic excuse for a father. “Goodbye dad, rot in hell.”

I stride towards the door, Craig following closely behind. Craig turns his head, looking at the man who is now being collected by the guard. “Have fun being someone’s bottom bitch,” Craig says, flipping him off with his free hand over his shoulder. “By the way, your coffee was shit.”

  
Out in the prison parking lot, in the open air, I finally feel like I can breathe again. A weight that had been pressing heavily on my chest for the past 6 months, _fuck, the last 18 years_ , had finally lifted.   
  


“Are you okay?” Craig asks, tucking a curl behind my ear, peering down at me with more affection and care than I am worthy of.

”Yeah.”

Craig searches my face, as if looking for a sign that I am lying and wasn’t okay after all. He mustn’t have found one, because he smiles easily at me, cupping my cheek with his hand. “I’m proud of you honey.”

I lean into his hand, placing my own over his and absorbing all the warmth that the tiny gesture brings me. “Thank you for being there for me.”

”Always,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. “Let’s go home.”

We get in his car, and start the 2 hour journey home. Starship plays softly in the background as I watch the trees pass on the empty highway.

”So,” Craig says, breaking the silence, “that thing you said about marriage...”   
  


I look over at him, seeing the teasing smirk stretch across his lips. “Shut up, you dork.” I say, half heartedly nudging him with my elbow.   
  


He captures my hand with his own, placing it on his thigh. That same thumb rubs those same soothing circles again across the back of my hand. I squeeze his fingers with my own, trying to express every bit of love and gratitude I have for him into the gesture.

_It’s all going to be just fine._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this makes sense! Hahaha 😂 I wrote this in an hour at midnight and haven’t proof read it or had a beta reader so enjoy my over tired Drabble!


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